The Dracula Tales
by gabrielleestres
Summary: The gruesome murder of world renowned historian reveals a sinister secret that has been kept hidden from the world for almost six centuries - a secret so powerful and valuable, that people are willing to kill for it, even today.


_Institute of Medieval and Renaissance History, Oxford University, 01:29am_

In the darkness of his study, Professor Marco Conti adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and brightened his computer screen. Slowly, the monitor's blueish light began to illuminate the room around him, revealing massive bookshelves that burgeoned with ancient, leather-bound tomes and medieval artefacts.

For a moment, Conti's eyes flickered to the far end of his study, where a curved Ottoman sword sat on a metal stand, then his gaze returned to the screen, or rather, the document displayed there. On it, written in bold letters, was a single line of text.

Blood Spectrum Analysis & CBRN Resilience Test

Conti's brow creased with irritation: _CBRN? Why on earth would anyone conduct a chemical and biological resilience test on a five-hundred-year-old blood sample? _

Hitting a computer key, Conti jumped to the next page and began to read.

The lab results were exactly as he had expected, confirming that the blood residue they had found on the sword indeed dated back to the late fifteenth century.

With a satisfied smile, his eyes moved down to the next paragraph. As he began to read, the streetlamps outside flickered, flashed up and then, half a second later, they went out.

Startled, Conti looked up, his eyes darting to the diamond-paned window front that overlooked the university grounds.

In the sparse light of the crescent moon, the mock battlements and octagonal turrets of Oxford's Great Tower stood out like black shadows against the sky. Hazy wisps of fog swirled around the massive belfry, climbing up along its walls like the rising tide. There was something oddly unnerving, almost sinister about the sight.

Tearing his gaze away from the unsettling display, Conti switched on his desk lamp, and turned back to his computer screen. Pressing his lips together, he continued to read. But he made it only as far as the fourth line, which he needed to read twice.

_Impossible._

Creasing his brow in bewilderment, Conti tightened the grip on his mouse and scrolled down to the footnotes. The comment there was as unequivocal as it was shocking.

"_Cazzo_," he whispered, feeling the small hairs on his neck rise.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Conti reached for his phone, and dialled a number. It rang once, then ran to voicemail.

"It is too late, Professor, he can no longer answer your call."

Conti felt his throat clench, his eyes darting to the darkened corner of his study – to the source of the voice.

In the shadows stood a man, tall and lean, dressed in formal dark suit. His face was hidden in the shadows, but even in the gloom, Conti could see the glitter of his eyes, the reflection of the light there almost unnaturally bright.

"Who are you? How the hell did you get in here?" Conti whispered, rising slowly from his chair.

"Come now, Professor, you did not truly think that I needed your invitation to come here?" As he spoke, the man turned his head a little toward the window, and for a heartbeat, the faint moonlight seemed to reflect on his eyes, not silvery white, but red, like dying embers.

"_Che Dio mi assista…_" Conti whispered, crossing himself.

The man laughed softly—a low, mellifluous sound. "God cannot protect you, Professor. Not from me." As he spoke, he began to move towards Conti with a dreadful, measured calm.

Still, Conti could not see his face, but once again, he caught a glimpse a glittering eye, oddly bright in the darkness.

"What do you want?" Conti asked, backing away.

"You have something that belongs to me, Professor, something I wish returned."

"What are you talking about?"

"Please, Professor, do not play the fool. It is unbecoming for a man of your intelligence."

A thrill of fear shot up Conti's spine. Instinctively, his eyes shifted to his workbench, to the sword that glistened faintly in the moonlight. Conti watched in terror, as the man strode slowly over to the table. For a moment, his gaze seemed to linger almost reverently on the weapon, and then he reached it, lifting it up before him.

"A formidable weapon," he said softly, tilting the sword a little, so that the moonlight reflected on its blade.

Conti felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The blade, even though centuries old, was still a deadly weapon, at least so long as a skilled hand wielded it. And Conti knew that right now, that this was the case.

"Now tell me, Professor, where are the others?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, Professor, let me warn you know: Do not lie to me, you will regret it."

Conti closed his eyes, knowing that with his answer, he would seal his fate. "I don't know."

"What a pity."

The figure moved with the speed of a viper. And then a hand closed around Conti's neck, lifting him up and throwing him across the room. Conti felt his body shatter against the bookshelves, his ribs snapping with an audible crack, and then an avalanche of books and glass cascaded down around him, dragging him to the ground.

For a heartbeat, he was paralysed, and then a wave of pain washed over him—his body convulsing as his lungs began to fill with blood.

"Tell me, Professor, have you changed your mind?" The man asked, moving towards him with slow, measured steps.

Frantically, Conti scanned the floor, searching for anything that he could use to defend himself. There were books, shards of glass, and wooden splinters—all useless.

_Come on,_ he thought, trying to push himself up despite the agonising pain in his chest. And then he saw it—the faint, metallic shimmer beneath the debris and dust. It was a cross. Centuries old. Part of the university's medieval holdings.

Conti lunged for it, but the moment his hand closed around it's metal base, a foot descended on his wrist, pinning it down. For a second, his attacker stood motionless above him, like a snake poised to strike—and then he shifted his weight, and stepped down.

Conti screamed in agony as the bones in his hand snapped.

Without removing his foot, the man crouched down beside him. "Did you really believe you could ward me off with a cross, Professor?"

And in that moment, for the first time, Conti could see his face. The sharp regal features, the strong aquiline nose, the dark hair and piercing eyes. He knew that face. He had seen it a thousand times. And yet, even as he recognised it, Conti's rational, scholarly mind refused to accept what he saw. There had to be another explanation. A rational one. A scientific one.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Oh Professor, I believe you know exactly who I am." The man smiled. "Trust me, I am as real as he is, and you should fear me, as much as you fear him."


End file.
